Pieces In The Box Poem by James McLain

Pulling out gradually,
building out the center of the world.
And the board on which
I play the pieces in the box......
As it is raw between the creases
night/right as for Reconstruction.
Other than truthful each denial
leaving falling trees as the emptiness
of the forest from which it would
and do it not except love sweet, for me......
Come then, 'dear', excessively, to be forgiven,
And it is transferred,
my heart from it/is yours to touch,
because it is in close range,
and each kiss is necessary when you, 'it placed,